


Eventualities

by CatKing_Catkin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Cole learns a little bit ore about being human, Dark, Developing Relationship, Gen, Imagination, Introspection, Iron Bull has lessons to impart, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Moral Lessons, Morally Ambiguous Character, Not Really Character Death, Plans to Murder, Protectiveness, Talking, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think about how to kill everyone you meet?"</p><p>"Do you not?"</p><p>Or, Cole realizes one night that Iron Bull has been making plans for how to kill him, should the worst occur. He thinks this is an excellent idea, and offers to help Iron Bull practice. Iron Bull is not okay with this, but not as not okay as he'd like to be.</p><p>Takes place some time between "Here Lies the Abyss" and "Subjected to His Will".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eventualities

Presumably, they would at least get some warning if it happened. Mages were a flashy bunch, when they were off the leash. Even knowing what little he had been able to pick up about the spellcasting of non-Saarebas, Iron Bull couldn’t believe that anyone managing to execute a binding on Cole wouldn’t produce a lot of light and noise.

But after that…

He wouldn’t rampage. Most demons did, but Cole wasn’t most demons. Spirits. _Whatever_. Either way, according to Solas, they couldn’t help themselves. But Cole had learned better. Cole had learned to be smarter. He’d certainly learned _them_ , how they fought. For all Dorian lectured him about not getting in the way of his magic, Cole hadn’t been burned once.

And he’d strike quickly. The goal would be to kill them quickly. Even pitted against them, maybe even especially when pitted against them, he’d likely be too damn merciful to play it any other way. And Iron Bull had seen just how quickly Cole could kill. Losing track of him for more than a blink would mean a knife in someone’s throat. The nearest person to have their back to him after the binding was executed, whoever they were, Iron Bull wasn’t sure he’d be able to save them.

However, he thought he could say with some confidence that he would be one of Cole’s last choices for a target. He wouldn’t go down quickly. Cole’s goal would be to amass a body count, not eliminate a threat. Iron Bull could use that.

Control the situation. Control the target. Ideally, that would mean getting a physical hold on him. Lift him off the ground, don’t buy into the instinct to try and pin him up against something just to make him stop moving. That would just give Cole leverage and something to brace against. Nothing short of unconsciousness at best or a broken neck at worst would keep him from moving in the middle of a fight.

Keep his feet off the ground, keep his hands away from anyone else. Iron Bull knew he probably outweighed Cole by several degrees, and was probably undeniably physically stronger. But the kid was squirrely. He could twist and writhe in a way that sometimes made Iron Bull wonder if they should remind him what bones were there for. So, take care to grab under the arms, make him dislocate a shoulder if he wanted to get free. At least that would slow him down.

Grab for the hands. Whether Iron Bull got a proper hold of him or not, that had to be the ultimate goal. The second he got a hold, break them. Cole weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, so Iron Bull knew that one good _squeeze_ could probably snap his bones like a twig. He was a spirit, yes, but he was a spirit in a physical body and there were some reactions that just couldn’t be controlled. Break the hands, and he’d drop the daggers.

In the meantime, expect to get stabbed. A lot. Take a deep breath and accept as much. Accept that he had survived worse than knife wounds from a squirrelly kid, and that it would take a lot longer to for Cole to kill him than it would for him to kill Cole from that position. Once he’d reached that acceptance, he could maybe even turn that inevitability to his advantage. If the dagger got caught on muscle or bone, he could use that as leverage to jerk it out of Cole’s hand, or get a hold of his wrist.

Assuming no other assistance or no possibility of salvaging the situation – possible, if he were separated from the group, or else had been otherwise prevented from intervening in time – take charge. Move fast. Don’t think. Get a hand around his throat and squeeze until something breaks. He would take care not to look the kid in the eyes while he did it. Whatever he saw there would only make him hesitate.

Hopefully it would be quick. Cole would want it to be quick. And if it wasn’t…at least it would be over.

* * *

“But how can you be so sure that I would drop my daggers, The Iron Bull?”

Iron Bull didn’t so much as twitch. He hadn’t heard Cole approach at all. One moment there had been absolutely no one behind him, and now there was a kid. Demon. Spirit. _Kid_.

Frankly, he was used to that by now. Probably too used to it. If the worst should happen and Cole became a threat, he couldn’t hesitate even for a second just because he’d never been a threat before.

But neither could he show visible doubt or weakness. Cole was his teammate _now_ , and it was important that the group remain cohesive. He needed not to flinch should the spirit be turned against them at some point in future, but Sera needed to stop flinching _now_ every time he came within five feet of her, no matter how visibly he did it.

So Iron Bull didn’t flinch. He just got to his feet and turned to look back at the kid. They were camped out near the farms of the Hinterlands, a couple of hours outside Redcliffe. Inquisition soldiers were on watch dutifully, of course, but it was the darkest time of the night and a dedicated assassin could get up to all kinds of mischief around about now, should they be so inclined. Iron Bull liked to get involved personally, during dangerous moments like these.

“I can’t be,” he said, trying to keep his mind empty of fear, of doubt, of _pain_. He even smiled, and hated himself a little for how easy it was. “Not entirely. But if I was able to break your hand as badly as I know I could, even if you kept your grip, you wouldn’t be able to use those daggers of yours’ as effectively. The loss of fine motor control would be unavoidable. You’re a tough kid. I know you can power through a lot, and I know you’ve got your own techniques, but this wouldn’t be a matter of willpower. It would be a matter of muscles and nerves, and I know you sometimes have enough trouble coordinating yourself as it is.”

Cole nodded. With the brim of his hat pulled low and his bangs falling into his face, it was often hard to see his eyes at the best of times. Now, it was impossible, even if he was pale enough to nearly glow in the dark. “That’s true. I can go where the knife is, but sometimes the knife listens to me better than I do.”

“See? There you go.” It would ordinarily be suicide to reveal his plans like this – plans to kill someone were frequently far less effective if the target knew what to expect, after all. Cole had clearly already seen everything, however. Besides, after the initial awkwardness wore off, Iron Bull could see that maybe he could help the kid. Maybe he could reassure Cole that he had his act together, should the worst occur.

He knew that was important to the kid. Spirit. Demon. _Whatever_.

Still. It wasn’t as though he liked thinking these thoughts, so it was with his usual black, bitter, _safe_ humor that Iron Bull added without thinking: “I can demonstrate, if you’d like.”

He cursed the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, because _of course_ Cole responded by holding out his left hand, palm up, in a silent offer. Iron Bull forced himself not to flinch away with a genuine effort, but in that moment, he wanted to.

“Kid,” he said instead, as gently as he could. He held up a hand in a gesture of restraint, of warding off. “I was joking. _No_.”

“Oh.” And yet, barely missing a beat, Cole hastened on. “But it’s a very good idea, The Iron Bull. If you tried it now, you could be sure if it would work or not. And if it didn’t, you would have time to think of a better plan.”

From Cole’s perspective, of course that would make perfect sense. Iron Bull wasn’t sure he could even begin to explain all the things that were wrong with that idea if they had all night.

Perhaps worse still, there was a part of him – a not insignificant part – that really did want to take the chance to be certain. And Cole could see it.

What Iron Bull said out loud, however, was: “And what would we tell the boss if you turned up tomorrow with a broken hand? Somehow, I don’t think she would find the explanation that we were practicing for me to kill you to be an acceptable one.”

“We could say I fell down?”

“No. We really couldn’t. Besides. If I broke your hand, that would leave you with only one hand to fight with. Not a very good way to help the Inquisitor, now is it?”

“It’s safe here, now. The bears are sleeping. The wolves are calm. The Fade is quiet. We’re here to leave flowers and deliver a letter, not fight anyone.”

“You can’t know it will stay that way.”

“And you can’t know _I_ will stay this way!”

No. He really couldn’t. To make it worse, judging by the way Cole had genuinely raised his voice (not by much, but enough) by the way his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides (a gesture that Iron Bull knew by now to recognize in him as restless anxiety rather than violence) and by the way he was genuinely _shaking_ like a leaf in those oversized clothes and ridiculous hat…the kid had his doubts, too.

Slowly, achingly carefully, Iron Bull reached out and took the offered hand in one of his. His grip was gentle, but he knew that wasn’t why Cole smiled. Like this, with Cole having moved closer so willingly, so _trustingly_ , he could see through the thatch of his bangs that his companion had closed his eyes in anticipation.

“I don’t mind,” Cole said. “I won’t make any noise. If this helps you feel safer, I want you to.”

The sad part, the awful part, was that Iron Bull knew he was telling the truth.

It would be _so easy_. It would be _criminally_ easy to make him prove those words. Cole’s hand was small and slender and pale where it rested in his. All fine bones and long, deft fingers that made him such a lethal force when you put a dagger in his hand.

Iron Bull tried to imagine those fingers curled around the hilt of a dagger aimed at him, at Dorian or Vivienne or Sera or the Inquisitor. It could happen, one day. They all knew it could. Cole knew it most of all.

He tried to imagine himself closing his hand into a fist around the boy’s hand and _squeezing_. He could. He could imagine it very easily. He knew exactly what noise it would make. He knew exactly how the bones would feel giving way. He even knew how Cole sounded when he was hurting and trying not to worry anyone.

The odds were good that the kind of damage he could inflict, given the chance, given free reign, would be bad enough for Cole to never properly heal it.

The Iron Bull closed his hand carefully over the boy’s. But he didn’t squeeze. Instead, he maneuvered Cole’s arm carefully back down to by his side, and then he let go.

Cole opened his eyes to stare back at him, curious and concerned. He didn’t protest his arm being moved, however, even though he said, after a long second of obvious puzzlement: “I don’t understand.”

Iron Bull sat back on the rock he’d been resting on with a sigh. He felt old and tired, and there was nothing around to drink and no one around to fuck until that feeling went away. “You want to make me feel better, kid? Don’t ever do that again.”

“But you…”

“I know what I thought. I know how I think. But that’s _me_. That shouldn’t concern _you_. Yeah, all right, maybe I don’t know if I could break your hand if I had to. Maybe you’ve got some…spirit _thing_ that makes you stronger than you look. But no plan is foolproof. It’s just a place to start. If that didn’t work? I’d adapt.”

Cole, rightly guessing that a lecture was forthcoming, took a seat on the grass by the rock. He still sat like someone who hadn’t quite grown into their limbs. Then again, even after all this time, maybe he hadn’t. He sat, and stared up at Iron Bull without blinking. “You only hope that’s true.”

“So? I _hope_ the sun comes up in a few hours, but given the way the past few months have gone, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t. Look…you’re a sweet kid. Weird, creepy, but sweet. From what I’ve picked up from Solas, you don’t really have much of a choice in the matter. ‘Compassion’, right?”

“That used to be my name. Just as ‘Hissrad’ used to be yours’.”

Iron Bull – hell, most of the team – had eventually come to the realization that dealing with Cole in your head was a lot like building up a tolerance to wyvern’s venom. There was only so bad it could get, and after that, you just couldn’t be bothered anymore. So he barely missed a beat, and didn’t even wince, at the reference to his proper title.

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” he continued on instead. “But compassion isn’t always what people need. Even when it’s not a matter of killing people. You might not understand this now, but…I _need_ to worry. I need to doubt. Going around thinking you know everything or are prepared for everything is a great way to wind up dead. I should know. I’ve seen plenty of people go that way, on both sides of a fight. And going around hurting people just to prove to yourself that you can…”

“Madness.”

“…yeah. Good way to wind up nothing more than a beast. Even if they let you.” The day he wouldn’t rather die than go that route would be the day it was already too late.

Those were doubts for another long night, however. For now, Iron Bull reached out to prod Cole lightly in the chest. The kid could sometimes get lost in what he was seeing in other people’s heads, but right now, Iron Bull needed him to keep what he said next very firmly in his own.

“You want me to worry less? Here’s what you can do. The _only_ thing you can do. Take care of yourself. Some bastard tries to get their hooks into you, you make it as hard for them as you can. Even if it means staying back or staying out of the way. But you never, _ever_ offer up yourself to someone who wants to hurt you ever again. Promise me that, Cole.”

Cole when he was upset could be truthfully compared to a wet kitten. Iron Bull knew as much for a fact, having once seen him rescuing a litter of wet kittens from under the tavern. He looked it now, but Iron Bull made himself hold firm. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I could stop myself on my own.”

“That’s just it, kid. If you were sure…I’d worry a lot more.”

Cole was not, however, stupid. The best that Iron Bull could tell, he just had problems fitting what he saw and felt into entirely comprehensible terms, sometimes. That didn’t change the fact that he was bright as a silver piece when he had the chance to get his feet under him. Sure enough, after a couple of seconds of worried bewilderment, comprehension dawned like the sun. “I understand!”

It was okay to be uncertain. Sometimes, it was even better that way. And sometimes, there was no better way to understand than to live it yourself.

Cole got back up to his feet like a slightly tangled puppet. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out to give the Iron Bull the most tentative one-armed slap on the back that he had ever been on the receiving end of. “And…I promise, The Iron Bull. I’ll fight. I promise.”

“Glad to hear it.” He probably _could_ have knocked Cole flat with the slap on the back he gave in turn, but Iron Bull settled for just making him stumble. Cole smiled anyway, at the silent confirmation that he’d responded in the right way. “And I’ll hold you to it.”

He managed to shoo Cole back to his tent after that. The kid offered to stay and keep Iron Bull company. He didn’t need to sleep, after all. Iron Bull was insistent, however. He wanted to finish out his watch, he said, and that meant keeping all his attention on the woods around them. Anyone else would only be a distraction.

They were all words that were true on the surface, and hopefully Cole wouldn’t look deeper than that. Either way, he went back to his tent without complaint or further protest. He even paused halfway there to turn and give a belated wave, which Iron Bull returned.

He waited until the tent flap had closed behind him once more. Then The Iron Bull settled back on his seat, head tipped back towards the sky. He spent far longer than he would ever like to admit even to himself trying to let the scattering of stars overhead wash his thoughts clean.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I admit, a part of me wants to do a fic with Cole being bound and controlled into doing wrong, like the Wardens were. My main problem in sitting down to write it is that I don't really see Cole letting himself walk away from that.


End file.
